Snippets

Hello (possibly nonexistent) readers! Long time no post. I've been busy with the usual. Work, sex, fighting the systems of oppression and eating good food. So here are some snippets from the void of when I was gone.


What is a sense of place? What is queerness? Where do I belong in my own queerness? What is my my femininity and how does it interact with my queerness and where do I belong?


Who lives in the hole in your sternum? The holes in a violin?


Passive misogyny: Reinforcing the patriarchy through micro-agressions since the agricultural revolution.


The following poem is made mostly out of paraphrased lines from other poems. Please don't sue me. None of this work is original, but really no work is original so still please don't sue me.

Pomegranate:
And don't you dare make a victim out of Persephone
Pomegranate:

Set fire to this fruit; one succulent bead at a time

Pomegranate:

Beautiful, not like a model but beautiful like a wildfire

Pomegranate:

Gay, not as in happy but queer as in fuck you.

Pomegranate:

And nothing has ever felt so sweet as undressing her softness, plucking the wings from his shoulders one feather at a time.

Pomegranate:

And she still looks like religion in high heels

Pomegranate:

And give me your tired, your poor, your huddles masses yearning to be free

Pomegranate:

And forgive me, for sir, I ham a very bad hand at righting

Pomegranate:

And so, the spear Danes, in days gone by

Pomegranate:
My vegetable love could grow, vaster than empires and more slow
Pomegranate:

I think of queerness as a spirit that haunts me

Pomegranate:

Girls like me were made for the rain

Pomegranate:

Maybe there were fireworks when I met you but I didn't notice because you were the brightest thing in the room

Pomegranate:

She had the face that launched a thousand ships

Pomegranate:

And baby, we're going down swinging

"I went to kill the king but wound up kissing him instead." -- Ashe Vernon

I went to kill the dragon and save the princess but wound up saving the princess and killing the dragon.

I went to kill the king and I did.

I went to kill the king and did and then married the queen and then I found out I was the prince and cut out my own eyes.

I went to marry the princess but wound up kissing the king instead.

I went to kill the king but wound up finding myself instead.

I went to wake the princess but wound up falling asleep instead.

To hold wildfire in your palms:

Which is a particularly convenient metaphor for how she feels:

Pain, beauty, destruction, heat so hot it makes the air shimmer around her, and light to keep the monsters away.

The problem with the fire is that it's hard to fit all of her into a single flame

She is duality: The sizzling heat of flame and the comfortable warmth of her living flesh